At Banga Bhawan you get a certain feel for Bengal. And you can end your meal with mishti doi, above, yogurt flavored with caramelized sugar.

Indians living abroad a decade ago often complained that only one kind of Indian food had really made it overseas – the Punjabi/Mughlai variety whose saag paneer, butter chicken and buttery black daal makhni are perhaps the best-known of all Indian dishes. To eat any other kind of food, Indians overseas either had to make it themselves or befriend a hospitable aunty and uncle.

In New York and London there are a lot more choices these days. But in big Indian cities like Delhi, it can still be quite difficult to experience a wide range of Indian food at a nice restaurant.

Tripti Lahiri/The Wall Street Journal

The cafeteria at Kerala House is oddly enough in the parking basement.

For some cuisines – Bengali or Tamil, for example – there is some choice. Chains like Sagar, Swagath and Oh! Calcutta have all marked a major, if somewhat stodgy, leap forward in Delhi’s Indian dining scene. The upscale Indian Accent, in a boutique hotel, meanwhile, borrows from across India to create new dishes.

But where’s a cute, moderately-priced place to go and eat authentic Goan or Assamese food, for example? The cuteness factor is often overlooked by Indian restaurant owners in India, but that’s a mistake, judging by the adulation for the hip Gunpowder, which offers a mix of dishes from regions of Andhra Pradesh, Kerala and Tamil Nadu in trendy Hauz Khas.

Delhi’s dearth of a range of regional food options is odd, especially since it has long had several advantages over many other cities. Bureaucrats from all over the country are often here on long stints, frequently bringing with them service staff from their homes states, including cooks. And states have always maintained embassies of sorts in the capital – these centers, or bhawans, are located either around Connaught Place or, befittingly, in the diplomatic enclave. Along with hotel rooms for officials in town on work, most state bhawans have cafeterias that are open to the public.

But rather than act as forerunners to more stylish dining spots, these advantages seem to have stymied the spread of regional Indian food in the capital. Bureaucrats could always count on getting a good meal from another part of India at a dinner party at some other bureaucrat’s home. And before the boom years of the Indian economy led to more frequent dining out, restaurant entrepreneurs probably thought that people were more likely to spend lavishly on “exotic” Chinese or Continental for a special meal out.

So for now, as Delhi’s official tourism website suggests, for many kinds of Indian food, your best bet is still a bhawan. They’re usually low on ambience, but offer value for money and, in some cases, a feel of the part of India they represent. Not all bhawan cafeterias are open to the public, such as Pondicherry’s and Uttarakhand’s. But here are a few worth trying – and a few to skip. Lunch is usually from 12:30 to 2:30, though a few are open slightly later, while dinner is generally between 8 and 10 p.m., but call ahead (the numbers on the Delhi Tourism website actually work) to double-check.

In the Chanakyapuri area, the 18-month-old Viva o Viva, at Goa Niwas (14 Bir Tikendrajit Marg), is a bright and large room with lime-green laminated table mats that display illustrations by cartoonist Mario Miranda. The menu is written on a blackboard and includes everything from stuffed crab (500 rupees, $10) to pork vindaloo (200 rupees, $4), mackerel reichado (120 rupees, $2.5) – a crisp whole fish smeared with a paste of red chili, vinegar and sugar – and bebinca (50 rupees, $1), a pudding of coconut milk, eggs and nutmeg that is baked and sliced. Patrick Barretto, the chef and owner, says the prawn peri peri is his specialty. Don’t come Tuesday though – that’s his day off.

At Arunachal Bhavan, opposite Goa Niwas, the cafeteria was rather dark and depressing. When asked what Arunachal specialties were available, the woman at the restaurant’s reception said “Chicken boil. Veg boil. What else is there?” Perhaps she was not from the state. A man standing nearby helpfully offered, “Comes with bamboo shoots.”

Next door to Goa, at Bihar Niwas, the cashier in the cafeteria said that the center didn’t actually offer state specialties like Litti Chokha, a sort of dumpling in gravy, or mustard-flavored eggplant. Rather, it offers cheap north Indian staples. So to sample the food of this state, pay a visit to the Potbelly Rooftop Café, a new place in south Delhi (116C, 4th floor, Shahpur Jat). It’s almost as economical as eating at a bhawan, with a nice terrace at the top of – be warned – a rather steep and rickety spiral staircase.

Karnataka House, also in Chanakyapuri, doesn’t have a restaurant that’s open to the public. Instead, they recommend Karnataka Food Centre, a busy cafe located in the back of a building that houses the Delhi Karnataka Sangh, or association, on Rao Tula Ram Marg, just a little bit south of the intersection of Ring Road and Shanti Path. This place has been around for decades – what stands out from trips many, many years ago is the holige, a yellow-hued dessert pancake.

Around Connaught Place, there’s Andhra Pradesh Bhawan (1 Ashoka Road), beloved of the Lonely Planet, although that doesn’t necessarily make it the best of the bhawans. The cafeteria at Kerala House (3 Jantar Mantar Road) is definitely worth a visit. Yes, it is oddly enough in the parking basement. But there can’t be a better recommendation than the half-dozen journalists of Malayali extraction who were there lunching on a Thursday, and who say this is a frequent weekday haunt.

Tripti Lahiri/The Wall Street Journal

Pictured, a restaurant at Goa niwas.

It must be said that two of the journalists set aside ethnic pride and declared Tamil Nadu House (6 Kautilya Marg), back in Chanakyapuri, the best of the lot for its Malabar parotta and mutton and chettinad chicken. They also recommended a visit to Assam House’s Delicacy Restaurant (1 Bordoloi Marg). But for penny-savers, it’s doubtful that anything can beat Kerala House, where a fish fry lunch is an astonishing 30 rupees (60 cents). It comes with a rotating series of vegetables, such as thoran, prepared with papaya and coconut, yam with tiny black-eyed peas in gravy, and sambar. A waiter comes around and ladles out refills, and a large bowl of sambar, full of vegetables, and a jug of cumin-flavored water is on the table. There’s also meat curry or fry for 35 rupees, or chicken for 40 rupees.

Since there are several decent Bengali restaurants, it is not strictly necessary to pay a visit to Banga Bhawan (3 Hailey Road), but there you get a certain feel for Bengal. There’s nothing like the speed of the south Indian bhawans to be found here; service is friendly and slow. You pay for your coupons and wait 20 minutes. A waiter brings a large vat of dal. Around 10 minutes later, he ladles rice and a vegetable onto your plate. Another 10 minutes, another portion of your lunch arrives. But between the tables of Bengali gentlemen and their wives in starched saris, and the decent, light food and prices, it’s fun in a retro way. Pabda fish in mustard sauce is 120 rupees; a lunch of dal, a vegetable, rice and a bowl of mutton curry is 100 rupees. The mishti doi, for dessert, yogurt flavored with caramelized sugar, is excellent.

It must be said that the bhawans mostly work well as weekday, quick lunch outings (except for Banga Bhavan). For a convivial, leisurely dinner meal, there’s definitely a large space waiting to be filled between the elevated heights of Indian Accent and the bargain basement appeal of the bhawans.

Hopefully one of those veterans of the multi-cuisine restaurant, the sort who is undaunted by the challenges of serving Italian and Chinese under one roof, will turn his multi-tasking skills to opening a restaurant called “28,” a 40-seat restaurant where the menu offers a signature dish done in classic “grandmother” style from each and every state – so one can mix and match greens prepared Kashmiri-style, with a mutton fry from Tamil Nadu, and a dessert from Bengal — complete with sit-down service, drinks and décor that’s either totally minimalist, or a funky mix of kitsch and craft.

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